Most Amazing Light Show In History

This is quite possibly one of the most amazing things I have ever seen.

http://www.snopes.com/photos/arts/xmaslights.asp

Turns out it's real as well. Get excited.

I laugh out loud every time I watch this.

So I received an email the other day from Audioblogger telling me that, starting on November the first, they will terminate their services. This means I can no longer simply make a phone call from the road to make an audio post. I will be forced to remember it was I might have said and then put it into cohesive and easily understandable sentences and paragraphs... so pretty much, if I'm on the road, you'll not be hearing from me at all. Not that this is any different from how it's been for the past couple of months. I know, my little space here online has been uncharacteristicaly quiet since around the middle of the summer. I would like to say with confidence, "But don't worry, I'm back and I'll be updating more frequently now" but the fact remains that I have very little to say at the moment. I'm working on it; once life becomes more exciting, you'll hear about it.

Still working on finding a way to fly even though I am colorblind. No progress as of yet, just a ridiculous amount of red tape and brick walls. I don't like it.

Listening to - Baylor vs. Colorado on Dallas AM radio. My attention span is way too short to follow a game on the radio. Hence the blog entry. Go bears.

WOW... so, those were some sad and negative entries yesterday. *laughs* Honestly, I shouldn't call in entries when I'm in as bad a mood as I was yesterday. While there is the occasional funny moment, it just comes out as a giant gripe-fest. Nobody likes that.

I finally started reading one of my Anne Lamott books today (the one from way back in August... Bird by Bird), and now I'm hooked. I only got as far in as the introduction, and it turns out Ryan was right: it's like a female Donald Miller. Dammit. Now I've got to read everything she's ever written. And do I have time for that? No.

Quick recap of the past month and a half:
-Band week/other BUGWB things: exhausting but amazing. As ready as I was to be burned out on band, it was a matter of about five minutes into our first rehearsal and I got all giddy and excited again. I'm glad I came back for a fifth year; I've always been slow to get tired of things when compared to my peers, after all.

-Classes: Not so great. Academically, I will do just fine this semester, I'm just less than impressed by the presentation of material I'm being given. Mythology, which should be a very interesting class, is basically a repeat of my heritage class from this summer, except instead of the history of the church we're talking about the history of ancient myths. Believe me, it's far less exciting than it sounds. Do you care about the speculated actual location of the city of ancient Troy, if it did in fact even exist? Neither do I. Add on to that music history (interesting but dry) and geology (I learned all of this in eighth grade... seriouisly), and you've got a rather lackluster load of classroom activities. Thank God for handbells and musicianship. My Tuesday and Thursday afternoons are the highlights of my academic week.

But honestly, I'm just being bitter. I spent this spring learning Spanish from a giant bald man named "Chico" who spoke next to no English in an open-air classroom surrounded by orange trees and toucans. Of course I'm going to have a hard time returning to routine classwork.

-Misc: I have rekindled my passion for Whataburger taquitos, given up drinking, started working part time (super duper part time... 4-10 hours a month) at Express, gotten hooked on Grey's Anatomy, started falling for somebody new, and am still speaking Spanish with whomever will listen (and some whomevers who don't... I'm not picky). My old cell phone broke in half, so I replaced it with an almost identical model except that the new one is black instead of silver.

And that's all I have to say about that.

Currently listening to - Take It Back by barenaked ladies (off of the new CD, Barenaked Ladies Are Me... get on iTunes and give it a listen, it's great stuff)

Ashlee Ford: I will be back. I promise. You're right, I've been far too lax lately. It's high time that was fixed. Look for something this weekend.

Since I was but a wee lad, people have warned me: "Don't go grocery shopping when you are hungry." This is good advice; it prevents impulse buys and gross overpurchases of foodstuffs, and I try to adhere to it as often as I can.

There is related piece of advice; one that the legions of wise people in my life have failed to pass on. I discovered the need for this tidbit while on a trip to Barnes and Noble tonight. It goes as follows: when you have been re-reading old books all summer, don't go to Barnes and Noble without either a) a game plan or b) a chaperone. I walked in looking for light reading. A popcorn book. Fluff. I walked out with an ambitious bag full of seven diverse books.

If I were to look at my book-buying spree as a trip to the mental nutrition grocery store, I could say that I've covered all of my basic food groups. I've got my carbohydrates (award winning fiction, good stories that tell about compelling characters; filling but not necessarily nutritionally important; in this metaphor, Empire Falls by Richard Russo), my dairy (information download sans interesting narrative; tasty and useful, but too much of it and I'm just stopped up and uncomfortable; 101 Things To Do With Your Private Pilot's License by Leroy Cook), fruit and vegetables (delicious and nutritious; good for mind and soul; Bird by Bird and Traveling Mercies, both by Anne Lamott), meat (make-you-think, change your perspective types of books; real protein; Velvet Elvis by Rob Bell), and finally, the junk food (a couple of Dan Brown books; that's right, suspense fiction by a popular writer; quiet, you, I'll bet you went to see MI:III in the first week, leave my Dan Brown alone). Altogether, a balanced literary diet to bring me into the upcoming fall semester. Much excitement to follow.

Still loving my Cubs hat. I wear it entirely too much.

So despite the fact that I was walletless for the entire day, John and Chelsea's wedding was an impressive amount of fun. Michelle and I had a bang-up time playing with people's heads; rather than explain that we were just very good friends who have dated in the past but now occasionally go on date-type outings that are one hundred percent platonic, we figured it'd be way more fun just to let people believe what they had already assumed. It was incredible how people managed to phrase their questions so that we were able to preserve the illusion.

For example, instead of asking, "how long have you two been together?" a couple of people asked me, "when did you two start dating?" to which I was able to respond "about a year and a half ago." The question of "when did you two stop dating" never came up, so I did not feel too compelled to offer the information forward. We were told by a few people that we should get married. Others asked us how we were going to get by on just Michelle's band director's salary while I was finishing school. We agreed on most marital issues that came our way, but we found out that we are not milk compatible (I like 2%, she's a 1%). It was without a doubt the healthiest fake relationship I've ever been in.

Congratulations, John and Chelsea.

I went to Texas Roadhouse today for happy hour, and while I was flirting with the bartender she spilled my margarita on me. It was the best date ever.

Listening to - Roll to Me by Del Amitri

Holy cow, I am so bad at class. It's been way too long since I've been a student.

I wish I could just be in college without actually having to be a student. That would be awesome.

Listening to - Better Together by Jack Johnson

Before I begin the bulk content of this post, let me make something perfectly clear: I love marching band. More than that, I am in love with marching band. BUGWB (the Baylor University Golden Wave Marching Band) has provided me with some of the most fulfilling experiences of my life, and the people I have met through the organization will be the friends I have for the rest of my life. There's nothing quite like the atmosphere before a football game surrounded by people such as yourself who have invested themselves so thoroughly into the event that they're willing to wear a wool uniform in 90+ degree heat. The yelling, the cheering, Les Mis intro at the opposing team's huddle, Bruin Pride block, the Tennessee Waltz... it's amazing. I love marching band.

That being said, so follows the rest of the post.

This season, in all likelihood, is going to kill me. The Baylor football schedule is as follows:

9/2 - TCU
9/9 - Northwestern State
*9/16 @ Washington State
9/23 - Army
9/30 - Kansas State
*10/7 @ Colorado
10/14 @Texas
10/21 - Kansas
10/28 - Texas A&M
11/4 @ Texas Tech (probably a pep band)
11/11 @ OSU (probably a pep band)
11/18 - OU

An asterisk indicates that the band will not be at that game. I'm speculating about the pep bands (smaller groups of musicians, usually core players and particularly spirited individuals, and the occasional sucker freshman who got talked into going), but if past trends and current talk is to be believed, this is the schedule for marching band this year. Add on to that a trip to Round Rock for an exhibitional show at a marching contest and you've got a whopping ELEVEN performances for BUGWB this year, with only two free weekends from the beginning of September until the end of November.

I have just done some math regarding my history of marching band. This year, my fifth year in college marching band (and quite certainly my last), added on to the six years in high school marching band (we start marching in seventh grade to make up for the small size of our high school and the lack of interest in the band program in general) makes eleven years in marching band. We averaged about ten games a year in high school, which equals 60 games in high school marching band. Add on to that the eight games from freshman year (68), eight from sophomore year (76), nine from junior year (85), and six more from my first senior year (91). Having said all of that, with the ten games we will be doing this year I will finish out my career on my 101st game as a band member. Forgive me for saying so, but holy balls. That's a lot of band. When I bow out of Tennessee Waltz for the last time, I get this feeling that I'll be pretty ready for it.

Now I lay me down to sleep.

Listening to - You & Me & The Bottle Makes Three Tonight (baby) by Big Bad Voodoo Daddy

Germany is playing Costa Rica in the world cup, and Germany is winning 3-1 at the moment. I'm sitting at Chili's hoping for something amazing to happen, but I fear the end of Costa Rica's world cup bid is imminent. And still, I cheer.

VAYA, COSTA RICA! PURA VIDA! VIVA LA COSTA RICA!

I want to be in El Coco watching the game with Vito and Ana. I suppose Chili's will have to be the next best thing.

Okay, I've got to go print my homework out now. Go Ticos!

Listening to - Straw Hat and Old Dirty Hank by barenaked ladies

Summer classes keep one incredibly busy, but the subject matter can't seem to keep my mind occupied. Brit Lit is pretty fun, since all I have to do is read at night and discuss during the day, so I'm having no problems there. But music history is eating my lunch... way too much information to absorb. Every time I go into that class I feel like I should be wearing a dunce cap. I miss Costa Rica, where I felt like the smartest person alive; languages are easy for me. Rote memorization of composers, dates, terms, and other such things, not so easy. Everybody else in the class seems to be doing just fine, though, so I know it's not just the pace of the class. It is me. Crap.

So I think I may have burned a bridge in the past week. Not on purpose, mind you, but it seems to have happened nevertheless. It's quite a sad deal, but as dad keeps reminding me any time I come to him with a problem of this nature, "this too shall pass."

Today is the seventh.

Eric Whitacre

You should really click on that link.

I have been on a huge Whitacre kick for the past week or so; a couple of weeks ago I ordered some CDs of his and have been listening to them almost nonstop since they came in; there's an occasional break for some Dave Matthews or some Barenaked Ladies, but for the most part it's been all about the Whitacre. I've known about him since my sophomore year of high school, when I had to learn i thank you God for most this amazing day for All-State choir auditions. At the time, I hated him because his music was so hard to learn. I couldn't cheat and steal the pitches I was supposed to sing by guessing the harmonies; there was too much dissonance and not nearly enough tonality for my ear to find it all that pleasing (not that I knew to describe it that way when I was sixteen; I just didn't like how hard it was). But then, later that year, I actually heard a recording of the piece and suddenly I understood what all the fuss was about. I got the dissonances, I understood the leaps, and I was floored. I've pretty much been hooked ever since.

Any vocalist who has ever sung his piece Water Night is aware of the fourteen note simultaneity that happens at the big climax of the piece (if you're familiar with the recordings, it's the part where the whole choir seems to yelling "if you open your eyes night opens doors of musk"). At this point in the piece, all twelve pitch classes of the modern chromatic scale are represented, spread out across four octaves of vocal parts. It is huge. Play this thirty seconds of music in a room full of music majors and all of them will suddenly don a facial expression that most people associate with a lovesick puppy. It's a combination of feelings such as awe, joy, and envy at having not thought of the idea first. This moment is, without a doubt, my asolute favorite moment in all of music. It's just that good.

So... go buy some Whitacre.
-Carmack

Listening to - Sleep by Eric Whitacre, performed by Polyphony

Life just doesn't quite have the same zing it had while I was in Costa Rica, guys. Sorry for the lack of updates, but if it helps you feel better, you're not missing much.

Quick update:
-Tomorrow is my last day at work. Huzzah.
-On Monday, Cozad and I are leaving for Chicago for our long overdue "we really need to do a road trip together" trip.
-Next Saturday I will probably see some high school friends, and it will be good.
-The UT track team does not tip well, and I hope that all of them suffer mildly severe ankle sprains tomorrow. If any of them ever read this, know that I am shaking my fist at you right now and there's nothing you will ever be able to do about it.
-King size beds are awesome, unless you live in Texas and don't have air conditioning. But they still beat futons hands down.
-Scooters are sweet, no matter what your motorcycle-driving friends might tell you. Who needs to go faster than 50mph anyway?

I might do a few audio blogs while I'm in Chicago, so please do check back.

Listening to - Sleep by Eric Whitacre

Not a whole lot to say lately, guys. Here's a quick rundown:

I hate my job. I have never, ever hated a job before. Shredding paper was unpleasant but it never made me miserable. Bank teller/hot dog vendor will probably go down as the best summer in history. I liked Subway because I really liked making sandwiches; I know, it's weird, but seriously, I would have contests with myself. How quickly I could make sandwiches during the lunch rush. My crowning achievement was the day when there was a baseball tournament in town and I was working the counter by myself because the other guy called in sick. In the hour between noon and one in the afternoon, I made, rung up, and took payment for no fewer than seventy-four sandwiches. That's one sandwich every 48.6 seconds. Admittedly, there were multiple orders where I made five sandwiches at once and took payment for them all at the same time, but I still made all those sandwiches. Pretty sweet.

So that was a digression. Forgive me.

Seriously, I hate my job. I've already quit, but I told them I would work through Mother's Day so I'm not just leaving them high and dry. This should make it easier for me to be there, but it is in fact next to impossible now. Every customer that treats me like dirt makes me think, "why don't I just tell them off and walk out the door?" But then I look at my coworkers and how shorthanded we already are and I can't just walk out on them. So I take the bad treatment and the crappy tips and the being miserable, and it just gets worse and worse; I have an incredible amount of respect for anybody who can do this on a permanent basis. It takes infinite patience and skin thicker than a rhino. From now on, I am forever a 20% tipper.

So after my job ends, I'll have two weeks until summer school starts. I haven't really decided what to do with that time yet. It's summer, so it's warm enough to sleep outside, and even though gas prices are ridiculous there are a few road trips I have wanted to take for a very long time. I'm thinking about driving the entirety of old US Route 66. But then there's also the Grand Canyon. Ever since reading Through Painted Deserts I've wanted to hike down to the bottom and stay the night. That would take a couple days' time, and I don't know that I would have time for that if I were also driving the whole highway.

It would take me about nine days to drive from Chicago to LA if I drove about eight hours a day. Add on the two days it would take to get to Chicago, then the three days to get home from LA, that's a full two weeks. I have sixteen days in between my last day at work and my first day of school, so I could just make it. But then I would not be able to fly during those days, thus postponing my private pilot certification. As cool a story as it would make to have driven the whole "mother highway" (http://www.historic66.com/ their term not mine), it just seems like it would be significantly cooler to be able to say "I'm a pilot." Then I could just fly to Chicago or LA whenever I wanted.

Okay, that last sentence just settled it right there. I'm going to get my first solo next week, then I'm going to set to work on my cross country flights. My instructor doesn't think I'll be able to get certified by May 30th, but I'm determined. We'll see.

This has been "my decision-making process" with John Carmack. Tune in next week to watch me pick out a shirt. For now, I go to clean my kitchen and then it's off to work.

Watching - Friends Season 9

I've been talking to several people about what's going on with me lately, so we'll consider this the official place of reference for a "what happened."

Shortly after Ashlea and I broke up (in the vicinity of ten to fifteen minutes or so) I came to the decision that I'd made a horrible mistake and set to work immediately on a plan to fix what I'd made wrong. So began my first ever campaign to really try to undo a breakup. Long story short, there were many small romantic gestures, one medium gesture, and one really big gesture. I don't want to go into details; this blog may be very candid about the details in my life, for the most part, but sometimes things really are just private. Suffice to say, there were flowers, letters, pictures and couches involved.

But it was not to be; I'd done some pretty thorough damage. There was a final talk last night, and we're still on great terms, but the relationship as we knew it has ceased to exist. So now I pack it away and move on. But lessons have been learned, relationships with friends have been strengthened, and my brother and I are better in touch than we've been since he left for college six years ago. Altogether things could be worse. I feel fine. I slept well last night, started eating again, and I suppose my ugly, ugly couch will find a safe place to stay until a time comes when it's ready to be donated. I'm thinking the kitchen.

So, next on my big lifelong list of things to do: learn to fly. I start today.

Listening to - Never Do Anything by barenaked ladies

Sorry guys, it seems to me like I'm updating a lot lately, but I think I've started three entries in the past two days that have ended up just being saved as drafts.

For anybody keeping up, Ben made me eat a chicken sandwich today. God love that boy. I'm not used to being stressed, so this whole "loss of appetite" thing has taken me by surprise. It was a bit of a battle the whole way through, but I finished the thing off, so hooray for that. My body can continue to function as normal and, at least for another couple of days, I don't have to worry about starvation. Sic 'em.

I know I'm starting to sound like a broken record, but I had something of a rough day at work again. I actually had a table get so mad at me that they walked out of the restaurant. Everybody else though they were just being jerks, but I really wasn't giving them the best service I could have. I knew it and they did too. It kind of hurt my feelings, which is ridiculous. I can't take it personally, because the rest of my tables were fine. My tips were lower tonight, but I don't think I gave sub-par service; I think I just gave worse service than I usually do.

I don't think I'll be able to keep working this job through the fall. Summer will likely be enough for me. But we'll see.

Still can't sleep... God I'm exhausted.

So today was interesting. It was Easter, and I think this is the only Easter of my life where I haven't gone to church. I worked a double shift today that started at 11:00, so I wouldn't have been able to go anywhere. It was pretty frustrating, though, because I ended up only getting one table for the entire morning; they called ahead to make sure they would have a table, and I got assigned to their table. Then they were late by about a half hour. Then they sat and talked for an hour after they had paid. And when I finally went to pick up their check, I found that they had only given me a 9% tip. That's $18 out of a $200 bill. For three hours of work, with them being my only table. Works out to about six dollars an hour, and that's really frustrating. Especially considering that Friday night I was making closer to sixteen dollars an hour. I should have gone to church.

After I came back from my hour long break (I'd call it lunch, but I didn't actually eat, so it was just a break), things got better pretty quickly. There were some Spanish speaking people waiting at the hostess stand when I went to check in, and I talked to them for a little bit using my mad Costa Rican Spanish skills, and found out from a lady that there was a convention for some Hispanic church in Waco that had brought people in from as far as Mexico City (she told me which church, but I didn't know the word and now I don't remember it).

Not ten minutes later, I just happened to get a table with a family (mom, dad, five year old kid) who had worse English than I have Spanish. So I got really, really excited. At first the dad, who spoke very broken English, tried to order in English, but then I told him that I could speak Spanish if he would prefer (in Spanish, thank you sir). He suddenly looked very relieved, and I got to spend the better part of an hour speaking only Spanish. I can't tell you how good that felt; I haven't spoken that much Spanish since I got to the airport on my way out of Costa Rica.

So anyway, short story long, the family was impressed with me. The kid and I bonded over talking about how much we liked bread and butter (seriously, he really, really likes bread and butter), and the dad and mom liked that I gave them good service as well as tried to speak to them in their own language. The kid even gave me the ultimate compliment by assuming that I didn't speak English (he asked me how I could work in this restaurant if I only spoke Spanish [Como puedes trabajar aqui si no hablas ingles?]). That was freakin' sweet. They ended up leaving me a 40% tip. After they had left, I felt better than I have in almost a week.

Well, at least for awhile. Then the regular ol' grumpy Americans started coming in again and I had to deal with people who didn't care that I spoke good English, they just wanted their food and they wanted it five minutes ago. And where the hell were those lemons they asked the busboy for? That would be coming out of my tip, etc. etc. That pretty much put me back where I had been before, but it was nice while it had lasted.

Also, the kitchen staff now knows that I have good Spanish and so have stopped calling me a cabron. That's nice too.

Currently Watching - High Fidelity and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

Lots of posts lately. I guess that's just the way it is sometimes.

Good things I have accomplished today:
Really cleaned my room
Did the apartment dishes
Cleaned out my car (found Mary's sunglasses, they were tucked way underneath the seats behind some papers)
Had breakfast at Harold Waite's while reading some Donald Miller
Picked up some guitar stuff at Holze's Music Co.

And to think, this is about the time of day I've been getting up for the past three weeks, and already I've gotten this much stuff done. Every single time I finally fix my sleeping hours, this is exactly what happens. So why don't I do it quicker? Excellent question. I don't think I'll ever know the answer.

So on Sunday I wrote a lengthy entry that contained a few paragrpahs of purposely vague material. I'm feeling a little less inhibited about opening up right now, given current circumstances, and so I'm going to clarify as best I can. If you didn't read Sunday's entry, this might not make much sense.

I know myself to have a very stark, pronounced, and unabashed fear of accidentally ending up with the wrong person. I know full well that this is not something that is anywhere near unique to me, but that doesn't make it any less real. A problem that many people share doesn't cease to be a problem simply because it is a common one; it just becomes easier to ignore or shrug off. This translates, roughly, into a fear of commitment. After all, if I never commit to anyone, then I can't commit to the wrong person, can I? Safety in loneliness would be a simple way to say it, but obviously it's not as simple as all that. Who wants to be lonely? Not me. So this is a thought process that doesn't make sense. Still, in spite of that, and the fact that I know full well that it is completely retarted, my fear continues to allow me to feel safe.

So, in light of this fear, any time I start to get comfortable in a relationship, I try to convince myself that I'm not really all that into it. I become convinced that my comfort is really just a sign of apathy and boredom as opposed to contentedness. I tell myself, "You know, if this relationship were to end, I bet it wouldn't bother me. I'd be fine, probably trying to chase some other girl in a few days." This is reprehensible. Not just the thought process, but the fact that I do it every single time and the fact that I am always lying to myself. It is, as of this writing, impossible for me to admit that I actually just like the girl and just happen to feel comfortable around her because she's easy to be around. And so, because I am incapable of being comfortable, I decide to make things uncomfortable.

Anyone I've dated for more than a couple of months since coming to college can tell you approximately when this happened, even if they didn't know it was happening. Why do they know this? Because this is when I start to pick fights. I do things that are irritating and pretend not to know how irritating they are. I pretend to be irritable, and I am short with them. Like some elementary school crush or something, I antagonize them. Then I get to see them mad, pretend it's their fault, and when it's gone on for long enough I'll just throw up my hands in frustration and end the relationship. Problem solved, commitment avoided. It's a foolproof plan, acted out on an almost entirely subconcious level. Of course, within twenty-four hours after things end I realize what a bastard I've been and wish desperately that I could take it all back, but of course it's too late and the damage is done. The one time I called the girl the next day, she was crying her eyes out and I didn't have the heart to try to fix things; I felt horrible for making her feel that way, and I had no way of knowing I wouldn't do it again. I pretended that I had been trying to call somebody else and had dialed her number by mistake out of habit. Seriously, who does that? I mean, aside from evil people.

Aside: the greatest failure in my life, it seems, is the failure to figure out that unlike Photoshop, I have no "Apple-Z" buttons to push (that's "Control-Z" for you PC users; the "Undo last action" command). I never realize that I can't take things back until after I realize that I might want to. Solution: think before I speak. Problem: I've never been very good at that. Ask any of my teachers from high school.

Second aside: I'm not sure what I mean when I say "evil people." I guess I mean people that do stuff that all of us do, the stuff that hurts people, but they're not doing it subconciously because they're selfish, they do it on purpose because they're mean. I would also imagine that they don't feel bad about it afterwards. In this example, we'll say that's what it means. I reserve the right to change the term's meaning for future posts.


I don't know how, I don't know when, but this blog entry will come back to bite me in the face. When I write about relationships, they always do. So why am I going to post it?

I don't have a good answer for that. Anymore, I post on here because it's something that makes me feel good. Problems be damned, I like to write and this is my podium, so I'm going to keep writing.

Ashlea and I broke up, by the way.

Listening to - One Sweet World by Dave Matthews

I've been trying to go to sleep for about an hour now, laying in the dark while the Tylenol PM I took tried to work its voodoo on me so that I could get some rest, but as always it is to no avail. I am, and I guess I will always be, a nocturnal creature.

I still like my job, even after having a rough first day on the floor. I had some rude customers, but I also had some friends come to see me and that was pretty cool. I'm looking forward to working tomorrow, mostly because I can't seem to find anything else to do. I'm gaining weight back that I lost in Costa Rica, and that's bugging me. I suppose I'll have to get out on the bear trail.

Oh, and if I can get the night off, I'll be going to K-Psi formal. Tara is cool for letting me be her tag-along date. You hear that, Tara? You're cool.

I have no stories to tell from my present, and so today I will regale you with an epic tale from my past.

Behold the history of Gauntlet Foilball.

Guantlet Foilball was a game that was borne out of a combination of boredom, competitiveness, and sadism. A large group of high-school aged guys (about 30, if I recall) had finished their third night at church camp, and we had been sent up to our bunks in order to start the process of not sleeping before we had to get up again the next day. Just like any other boys dorm, there was roughhousing, mostly in the form of pillowfights. That is, until somebody produced a ball.

A foil ball is an interesting thing, in that nobody is ever sure why they have decided to make one. But it is as certain as anything: whenever there is a group of teenagers eating in a cafeteria setting, if they are served baked potatoes, some guy is going to make a ball with the foil. In the event of two competing foil balls being made, sometimes they will merge or other times they will begin to rapidly compete for the remaining foil that has not yet made its way to the trash cans. This is completely up to the makers of the balls, but if we are to believe that bigger is, in fact, better, then it is obviously much wiser for the two collectors to combine their efforts than to divide them among a dwindling foil supply.

On this particular night, the cabin had been served baked potatoes, and the competing foil balls had been merged to make a rock-solid ball of foil, sized somewhere in the vicinity of a grapefruit. This was a perfect size for tucking into one's arm, like a football, and running around trying to get nowhere in particular while trying not to be hit with things. And this is exactly what happened, person after person getting tackled or hit with pillows, until eventually there was a cry for order in the chaos. Someone should make teams, it was said. So then they organized two teams of two, and each team would receive the ball for a time and begin trying to force their way through to the other side of the room. Again, not unlike a game of football.

However, those of us watching were bored. We were not chosen to be gladiators in this new and wonderful sport, but we still felt that participation was tantamount to our being able to enjoy our evening. So some people began grabbing their pillows and standing between the bunk beds, and whenever the brave warriors in the middle would come near, we would whack the crap out of them with our feather-filled mallets of doom. This would become known as the Gauntlet, and we as the Gaunleteers. It was a noble position indeed, and we considered it the highest of honors.

If you need help visualizing what's going on in this story, here is the playing field. Drawing is nowhere close to being to scale.



This first game lasted for only about fifteen minutes before the youth pastor came into the room and made us go to bed, but we were hooked. Just like Shekki and Ooga-Booga before it, Gauntlet Foilball had become a part of the canon of the FBC Hinton's youth group and was there to stay. We played the next night, and then the next, before we went home for the year and had only our memories to remind us.

Until, of course, the next summer when we made a movie about it. But that's a story for another day.

-Juan

I have no problems with who I am now, and am in fact quite happy being the person I am, but when I remember who I was when I graduated from high school, I get a strange feeling. I don't think the guy who graduated from high school would like me very much, and I know pretty well that I wouldn't like that guy. I'm a very laid back, open-minded fellow, and my high school self was very much more judgemental and closed-minded. He didn't mean to be, and I'm sure he meant well (in fact, I know I did), but that doesn't change the fact that we probably wouldn't like each other.

New title! Yaaaay!

Hey, everybody.

I did make it back safe and sound, just in case anybody was concerned. I took a trip to Colorado immediately after my return and have only just gotten back to Waco for good. I am now catching up on the episodes of 24 that I had missed. Hooray for 24.

I'm about to head out to a "farewell dinner" with some friends from school, and I don't have much time because I always harrass them for being late. If I am late now, it will certainly never be forgotten.

Anyway, tomorrow I fly back to the Estados Unidos. My time in Costa Rica has come to an end, or rather it will in about 14 hours, and I can honestly say that I'm feeling pretty good about it. I love this place, no doubt, and this is an experience I'll always be grateful for, but there's something to be said for hot showers, cold milk, and pet sterilization.

It's been a good two months, but it'll be better to be home.

Pura Vida!
-Juan Carmaque

Listening to - Homeward Bound by Simon & Garfunkel

I can't stop going to iTunes. God help me, I will spend every last dime I have solely for the sake of satisfying my unquenchable desire for more music.

Among the artists I have added to my library since coming to Costa Rica (this does not include extra CDs that I have purchased from artists that I already had):
Kip Fox
Gorillaz
The Beautiful Girls
Jack Johnson
Joe Purdy
Mitch Hedberg
Howard Shore (LOTR soundtrack)
Klaus Badelt (Pirates of the Caribbean Soundtrack)

I have too much music already. Someone, please, make it stop.

It dropped below seventy degrees today, so everybody's wearing jackets.

Silly Ticos.

Whew... only one week left. Crazy how time seems to fly, but then when I think back to the airport and when Bryan and I were watching the mountains get closer through the airplane windows, it seems like forever ago. But I can't start getting all nostalgic yet, because I do in fact have to finish out this last week before I'm truly out of the woods.

I didn't leave town this week; I wanted to get a bit of a feel for San Jose. Four hours was enough for me.

Bryan and I hopped on a Bus around about 11:30 and took it to Coca-Cola market, and set about trying to find our way to the Museo Nacional de Costa Rica (more or less the museum of national history). In the process, we were told five different sets of directions (none of which were correct), thwarted two attempted pick-pocketings, and earned another fun story.

It turns out that the beggars like to earn a little bit of coin by showing tourists how to find certain landmarks in the city. The fact that there are no physical addresses in Costa Rica makes it difficult to find your way around sometimes, and so this is a potentially helpful service. Neither Bryan nor I had small enough amounts of change to offer to anybody who would show us the way, so we ignored attempts at such help. However, one guy was very isistent that he show us the way and wouldn't leave us alone. He get saying "Museo nacional, si? Si, yo les mostrare! Venga, venga!" (National museum? Yes, I'll show you! Come, come!"

So finally I said, "Si, bien, pero no vamos a pagarle a usted. No tenemos dinero suficiente." (Okay, fine, but we're not going to pay you. We don't have sufficient cash." He nodded his agreement and took us to something that looked very museum like, then said in very accented English, "Now one thousand for me." (1000 colones, roughly two dollars). I looked at him and very fimly said, "Yo le dije que no pagaria. Esto es que yo dije, y esto es que yo hago." (I said that I wouldn't pay you. This is what I said, and this is what I do.") He wasn't very happy about this and would not leave us be. He kept changing the amount back and forth from a dollar to 1000 colones. I kept repeating myself before Bryan finally reminded me that he probably wasn't going to listen. So I bid him adieu and went inside the edifice he had shown us to. He stood at the gate and stared at us the entire time.

The little punk took us to the wrong place.

We were in the national theater. But we couldn't leave, because this guy was standing out there staring at us like we had just killed his parents. So we went inside the cafe just off the lobby and sat there for ten minutes in the hopes that he would be gone when we left.

He was kind of gone. He had given up on glaring any money out of our pockets and had started begging around from other people in the entry plaza, and Bryan and I made a swift and stealthy escape. A couple of blocks later we finally looked behind us and saw that he had not followed us. We asked for directions again, ended up in yet another wrong place (and I know we followed those directions correctly, the people in San Jose just don't like gringos), and so we gave up on the idea of ever finding it and decided to head home. We stopped in a cigar shop and checked some stuff out, then went through the central market (just kind of so we could say that we've been) and headed towards the bus stop.

On the way, we saw some guy get arrested. I'm not sure for what, but he certainly wasn't fighting it so I guess he thought he had it coming or something. Kind of interesting, because people weren't stopping to stare nearly as much as I would have expected. I guess it's kind of a common thing in the area, but it was a first for me.

So Bryan and I hopped back on a bus and found our way back home. We were back around 3:30, more or less four hours after we had left. God help the Baylor Jazz Band, thank goodness they get to leave the city while they're here.

Buenos tardes, mis amigos. Estoy cansado.
-Juan

So I always think to myself that I might give up something for lent, but I can never think of anything that I actually feel like giving up. It's like that year when my only New Year's resolution was to make New Year's resolutions the next year (I didn't). I'll probably think of something the day before Easter, tell myself I'll write it down later, then not do it.

Anyway, I stayed home from school today. I woke up around four o'clock this morning feeling like the guy from Alien (you know, the one who dies because of the alien living in his stomach; that guy), but I really couldn't tell you why. I haven't had any abnormal foods for the past couple of days, in fact everything I've had since returning from Puerto Viejo has been the same stuff I eat every single day. But regardless, my immune system has failed me yet again, and I am vaguely reminded of how mono once conquered me (see every single entry from last fall, and bow before the power of my ability to complain about stuff for weeks). I don't like being sick. Hopefully tomorrow will be a different story. I can only hope.

So tomorrow we finally finish reviewing old material and get our first fresh stuff in almost two weeks. We begin on the dreaded "subjunctive" tense, which doesn't exactly exist in English, but as far as I can tell is the polite way to give commands that would otherwise be rude. Kind of like the difference between saying "Go away" and "I would like for you to leave, please." At least, that's what I think it's going to be. I don't know for sure, because I haven't learned it yet. I'll get back to you on that one. I'm pretty excited to be getting back into new material; review is nice, because it helps me really get the hang of stuff we've covered, but sometimes it really seems a little unnecessary since it's all stuff that we had covered only a week before. So hooray subjunctive, long live the tense.

Okay, I'm headed back home to see if I can't get some sleep.
-Carmaque

Today was kind of a hard day of classes. I got some news yesterday that is by no means bad, but is certainly unexpected and it hit me like a ton of bricks. I had a hard time concentrating, and I think out new teacher got a little frustrated with me. I hate that.

So at the end of the day, when all I really wanted to do was speak some English, I couldn't stop thinking in Spanish. Every time I would use a conjuction in my head, it was always in Spanish (case in point, I almost typed "siempre" instead of always, even though that's an adjective and not a conjuction).

But then I remembered my scooter, and all was cool again.

Sorry to be a bit vague today, this entry is kind of more for me to remember than it is for people to read about. I'll be funny again tomorrow, promise.

"No urine a mi pierna y me diga está lloviendo."
-Juan

Fotos nuevas para ustedes.

Costa Rica - Puerto Viejo

"Estoy detras de palo."
-Juan

Today was easily one of my favorite days in Costa Rica so far.

It started around about 5:30 this morning, when the howler monkeys outside of my cabin decided to give me a wake up call a good hour before my alarm was to go off. I wanted to be angry, but then I realized how undeniably awesome it was that there were monkeys waking me up and therefore decided to embrace it. This was followed by my complimentary breakfast; I was expecting cold bread and third-rate jelly, as America has forced me to grow accustomed to, but I was greeted (in German/Spanish/English, which I have decided to call "Englermish") by one of the lodge employees with the question, "How do you like your eggs?" It was closer to "A usted, como le gusto Ihre Eier? Scrambled?" Seriously, they move in and out of languages just like that. They're German immigrants who studied English in school but have lived in Costa Rica for several years. The owner's name is Wolf, which is sweet. Anyway, I got some really good scrambled eggs for breakfast and had a nice trilingual conversation with a couple of the guy's daughters. It was weird.

Moving on, it was pretty rainy this morning, so the beach really wasn't an option for me. However, I did still have my scooter (which still rules, see previous entry), and so I decided I would do some exploring of the area. I packed a few things in my bag (guidebook, passport, camera, iPod, etc.) and headed north.

Upon reaching a fork in the road, with one direction taking me to Cahuita and the other taking me to Panama, I realized that a whole world of possibility had opened up to me. I was only 32 kilometers from the border crossing at Sixaola, and another stamp on my passport was just too much to resist. So I revved up the ol' Yamaha and headed towards Panama. It was still raining pretty hard, though, and the speed limit was 80km/h (50mph), so I was getting pelted with rain and actually started to get a little cold. In Costa Rica, for crying out loud! I'm such a pansy; good thing I have a scooter to keep me macho.

Anyway, about 45 minutes later, the sun came out just as I was pulling into Sixaola. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Luckily there are kids who hang out at the bridge all day long to help tourists like me figure out what we're supposed to do. One of the ninos by the name of Emeriano latched onto me, and I've never been so grateful to have an eleven year old kid following me around. He spoke no English, but he spoke very clear Spanish and he had plenty to say. He pointed out the immigration office to me, helped me figure out which forms to fill out, and then he walked over the river Sixaola with me and provided some nice conversation about the area. Apparently a lot of tourists come through Sixaola in order to get to some area called "Bocas" and do a tour or something that's supposed to be pretty sweet. But there's also a fair amount of college-aged gringos just like me who just want to be able to say that they've been to Panama.

On the other side of the river Sixaola (meaning, in Panama), after paying my exit tax in Colones and receiving my change in dollars (which I don't understand), I went over to the neighboring Chinese restaurant and had a Pepsi. I put my iPod headphones on, turned it to "Panama" by Van Halen and watched some soccer on TV.

Yes. I have listened to "Panama" in Panama. Can you say that?

I finished my Pepsi and walked around town for a minute, and realized that there really wasn't much there. A supermarket, the aforementioned Chinese place, and a candy store were really all that the town had to offer. The main business of the town is pretty much wrapped up in people crossing the border, which is why all of the local kids hang around. As best I as I can tell, there's even a system for it. The 3-7 year old kids walk around shining shoes, the 8-13 year olds guide people through the process of crossing the border, and the 14-17 year olds are the managers of the whole operation, telling which kids to go with which tourists and pointing the shoe-shiners towards the people who look the most gullible. Anybody older than that works directly for immigration, either behind the stamp-desk or guarding the bridge.

So I returned to Costa Rica, walking the 200 or so yards across the footbridge that would take me back to immigration.

Oh, sidenote that I forgot to mention: it is illegal for motor traffic (for the most part) to cross the bridge. All persons must go on foot. Except, of course, for semi trucks. Seriously, just people on foot and semi trucks. I don't understand it, but that's the way it is. The road is EXACTLY the right width for one semi truck and one person. But not a fat person. Only skinny people can cross this bridge without fearing for their safety. Okay, end of sidenote.

By the time I had gone through both sides of immigration again, the sun was out in full force and it was about 1:00. I figured that meant that it was about time for me to be at the beach. I hopped on my hog (conveniently parked next to an orange juice tienda, which had some of the best juice I have ever had in my life that was purchased in exchange for the parking privileges) and headed back to Puerto Viejo.

The drive back was glorious. The sun was on my face and the scenery was alternating between banana plantations and rainforest the whole way. At one point, I couldn't help grinning. Then a fly flew into my teeth. I stopped grinning after that, but I still felt pretty good.

About forty minutes later, I got back to town and continued heading south. The best beaches around here, apparently, are very isolated. The only road that goes to them was only paved in the past couple of years, so they aren't yet feeling the strain of tourism and have retained much of their original beauty. And man, what beauty. It wasn't white sands and turquoise water, like you might find in Cancun or something like that, but it was definitely some of the most beautiful beach I've ever seen. Undisturbed jungle for miles, with the only eyesores around being the sixty-year-old men wearing speedos ("banana hammocks") who occasionally pass by. Aside from them, t was fantastic.

I got a little hungry, so in the southernmost village I could access with Growling Thunder (my scooter), I decided it was high time I had more seafood. Manzanillo, the village I was in, is apparently known for having some fantastic Caribbean seafood, so I ordered a whole grilled fish. Seriously, that was what my waiter (who was black and spoke very good Spanish with a Jamaican accent) recommended to me. Outrageous how good it was. I love the food in this area.

I spent the rest of the daylight hours working my way up the twenty kilometers or so of beaches in search of some of the most beautiful stretches on which to get some photos and maybe catch some sun. Once the sun had gone down, it was (of course) time for supper.

This was easily the best meal I've had yet, if not in Puerto Viejo then in all of Costa Rica. This village, in addition to being known for its seafood and its surfing, is very well known for the Italian immigrants who have settled down here. Italians everywhere. Italian food everywhere. I picked a restaurant that was right on the beach (Amimodo, if you're curious) and watched the last rays of daylight disappear while I perused the menu.

Get this: lobster ravioli. Outrageously good. I finished so quickly I think my waitress thought I had spilled it or something. I had never had lobster before, mostly because every time I thought I would have it I would look my lobster in the eye and realize that I simply couldn't sentence him to whatever fate my stomach would decide for him. This is why my food shouldn't have eyes while it's on my plate. Luckily, ravioli has no eyes, and thus I had the culinary experience of my year. Brilliant.

So tomorrow I have to leave around 11:00 in the morning to return to San José. If it rains again (which it probably will) I won't make it back to the beach, but I'll have had a good time here anyway. Either way, I've got seven or eight pictures I'll be posting either tomorrow or Monday, so we'll have some good times then. Hasta Luego.

"No hay motos aqui."
-Juan

One more weekend at the beach. Life is hard.

This weekend I am on the southern Caribbean coast, in the vicinity of Puerto Viejo. It's just me this week, as Bryan is saving some money for the snowboarding trip and therefore does not want to have to pay for a hotel and such. I understand completely, but I had to come down here; from everything I've heard, the two beaches south of here are some of the most beauiful on this entire coast. I'll be sure to let you know for sure after I've experienced them firsthand.

Today, I decided that I want a motorcycle in the worst way. My hotel is a few kilometers south of Puerto Viejo itself, so my options were either to walk, get a free bike from one of the places around town, or rent a moped from the shop right next to the bus stop. Of course I opted for the kickass moped. Don't make fun, it's awesome, and all the ladies love it. Or at least they would if they had time to notice me as I zoomed by them at breakneck speeds of up to 40km/h (26 miles per hour). Anyway, it rules and you're probably wishing you were me right now, and you're right to do so. But enough about me and how much I rule while I am on my moped, we must discuss other things.

After checking into my hotel today, I was informed that there was to be a volleyball game on the beach in about ten minutes. This made my day. Of course I went to join; however, my day was quickly un-made as I realized I had gotten myself into a hyper-competitive game of old gringo men who aren't very good versus young Ticos who probably play professionally. I got put on the old man team. And they really weren't very good. They kept getting mad at me for missing blocks and not diving properly, and at first I convinced myself that I was horrible, but then I started paying attention and I realized I was one of only two people on our team who consistently scored points for our team. Then I felt better. Anyway, I don't think I'll be joining tomorrow's game.

Once the volleyball thrashing had ended, I got on my moped (re: motorized throne) and headed for a little Italian restaurant about 2 kilos north of my lodge. I had been told that this was the place to go in town for great cuisine, but even knowing that I was still astonished. I didn't want to be too gringo-like and simply order a pizza or something, so I asked my waitress what was "el mejor" (the best) food to get tonight, and she quickly told me to go for the marlin. Or as those of us who aren't from Florida call them, swordfish. I was informed that the swordfish had been caught earlier that day.

Outstanding. I believe that's all that needs to be said. If you're ever in Costa Rica, go to Puerto Viejo, go to La Pecora Nera, and order the Marlin. It is, as I have just decided to say, "Knock You Off Your Awesome Scooter" good.

So now here I sit, in an internet cafe across from the local club, typing journal entries for all to enjoy. But that, I'm afraid must come to an end, because I believe I shall go and make a few new friends at the club before taking my peashooting crotch rocket back to my awe-inspiring hotel.

Oh, and there's howler monkeys living outside my cabin again. Those guys are everywhere. Silly monkeys.

"Habla espanol? Really?"
-Juan

If you do not want to read in Spanish, you might want to skip to the end.
-----
Este es mi primero tratado escribir una historia in mi "blog" solamente en español. Mi grammar posiblamente va a estar mal, pero yo voy a tratar. Si alguien se hablaba español muy bien y leia este, por favor coregame. Yo quiero estar mejor a español que otras gringos, asi quiero estar coregido. Solo asi ustedes pueden mejor el situaccion, yo lo estoy haciendo sin un diccionario. Entonces es dificil para mi.

Esta mañana, yo me levanta a las 7:40 a.m. y me vesti. Entonces, yo camine a la parada del autobus y llega a la escuela a las 8:20 a.m. Yo tomo un siesta pequeño antes de comemzaron las clases. Hoy es un buen dia. Hace mucho sol, y no hay mucho nubes. Me encanta la clima de Costa Rica, porque es muy agradable.

En los clases, Bryan y yo no aprendimos mucho hoy, pero nosotros hablamos con nuestro profesora mucho en español. Mas practica esta bien para aprender, y asi nosotros practicamos con frequencia. Hoy aprendimos tres or quatro frases tipica de Costa Rica, por ejemplo “Estoy detras un palo“ (I am behind a tree). Me cae bien nuestro profesora, porque ella muestre nosotros como se dice cosas como los Ticos.
-----

Okay, that's enough for now. I'm out of class for the day, and that's quite a bit of thinking to do while I'm trying to scarf my pizza at the restaurant I'm sitting in. I have no idea how well that will translate online, because I am lacking several very important keys on my English-layout keyboard. Most notably, the vowels with accents. For this reason, many of my verbs will not translate, most notably any use of past imperfect verbs (in English, "would do" or "used to do", or hypothetical situation verbs). As I said before, I did that without a dictionary or consulting my notebook, so there are likely several grammatical errors, and so a translation might not make much sense. But if a Tico were to read it, they would know why I was trying to say, and after only six weeks of Spanish in my entire life, I'd say that's quite the accomplishment.

"Fijame!"
-Juan

--
ps
I have read the Babelfish translation, and it is horrible. Trust me, my spanish is better than that, I'm just using a few idiomatic phrases that are not being picked up by the tranlator here and there, and it's adding unnecessary prepositions like crazy. Good luck with that translation, but again, please understand: it's not even close. This is one of the disadvantages of learning from Native Speakers: many of the things I say and understand only make sense when they are used in exactly the right context. I don't get up: I levitate from my bed. I don't get dressed, I myself put my clothes on me. I don't forget things, they forget to come with me. In Spanish, you don't do anything. Everything just kind of happens to you.

I have received some horrible news.

Juan's Mountain Sports is closing.

This was the best snowboard rental shop I have ever encountered. Great service, amazing prices, knowledgeable personnel... this is terrible.

We'll miss you, Juan.
-Juan

The cafe is closing now, so I must be brief.

The beach was awesome. I did surf, and I did get up on the board on my first day, thanks to the amazing Bob Clarke and his fantastic pedagogy. I got no pictures of it, because I was in the water surfing and had no time to photograph myself while the ocean beat the crap out of me.

However, here are the rest of the pictures.

Costa Rica - Dominical

"Pay attention, Juan."
-Juan

Sorry about the length of time between updates, I just really haven't had much to say lately. There's been class, there's been pool at El Coco, and that's really about it.

Today, though, I am in Dominical. Dominical is a beach on the Pacific Coast of Costa Rica, and our timing for getting here couldn't have been more perfect. The sun here sets very early, you see, I'm assuming because of the proximity to the equator (9 degrees north latitude, if you were interested), and also because there are mountains everywhere that the sun will often sink behind very quickly. So after taking buses for most of the day through the mid-southwestern part of Costa Rica, we got a Taxi in a city called San Isidro for the final 40 kilos to Dominical. As we were driving, we noticed the sun was just beginning to set behind the mountains, providing one of the most fantastic views I have ever seen (I know I've been using a lot of majorative language in my posts lately, but that's just because this country really is that beautiful).

Then, after watching the sunset behind the mountains, our taxi got past the last of the mountains and the road we were on opened up right onto the beach. So then we got to watch the sun set a second time, only this time over the ocean. Outstanding.

Along out journey yesterday, we met a new friend who calls himself "Jammin' Jim." He's an entertainer in Aspen who's taking some time off to do some backpacking in Costa Rica. Very cool guy. Here's his website, if you're interested:

Jammin' Juggling

So today I woke up pretty early while Bryan and Pete were asleep and went to swim in the ocean for a little bit; very cool. I'm not a fan of saltwater, really, but swimming in the ocean is just good times. I've thought about renting a surfboard and trying my hand at surfing, since everybody who sees me lately just kind of assumes I'm a surfer anyhow (long hair, fairly decent tan, good grammar but unusual language, and of course the baggy shorts). We'll see.

That's all for now. I'm sure there will be pictures eventually.

Listening to - Breakdown by Jack Johnson

Happy Valentine's Day, everybody. Or rather, Feliz Dia de Amor, ustedes.

A few of us from the school who either lack significant others or simply have significant others who are far, far away are getting together for dinner at the Tex-Mex restaurant later today. Should be a fun evening, assuming there are no couples nearby. It's kind a gringo joint, though, so there's a good chance there won't be. But who can say for sure? Yo no lo se.

"Nosotros traemos el diente."
-Juan

I did just about the coolest thing EVER last night.

After returning to the lodge, we decided to take another night walk now that we had seen everything in the day. We headed out to the best view we had seen during the day, the one right on the continental divide. What we saw there is something I don't think I'll ever forget.

You see, most of yesterday, we had jokingly bemoaned the fact that the cloud forest wasn't cloudly at all. We had really kind of lucked out, in that we got to see the forest on one of the few days of the year when it wasn't completely shrouded in mist, allowing for maximum visibility. In fact, you couldn't even call the day "partly cloudy." It was as clear as a summer day in Waco. This allowed for some spectacular scenery during the day, but the real show came during the story I have just finished interrupting and to which I will now return.

The moon was almost full last night, and there were still no clouds in the sky, so we were able to get to the divide pretty quickly and easily. It was about a 2km walk, and we only had to use the flashlight for a stretch near the beginning when our eyes were still adjusting. When we got there, we turned west towards the Atlantic, and saw a gigantic wall of clouds creeping its way towards us. The wind was howling through the valley directly in front of us and blasting us in the face. It was quite possibly the coldest I've been since leaving Colorado in January.

The wall of clouds moved through the valley, and crept its way up the hill in front of us. We ran over to the other side of the peak we were on and watched as what had only moments before been a clear and cloudless night turn into some of the densest fog I have ever seen. The clouds moved like waves in the ocean, rolling over one another and being pushed about by the wind, before settling into the forest and remaining there for the rest of the night. We watched this happen for what felt like five minutes but turned out to be closer to thirty, running back and forth from west to east and watching the process repeat time after time until the forest was no longer visible from where we stood. By the time we went inside, we had all come to the conclusion that we would likely never again have the opportunity to see what we had seen, and that we were privileged folks indeed. Undoubtedly the single coolest experience since coming to Costa Rica, and I have a hard time thinking of anything that might top it.

Meanwhile, Pete, who didn't go with us, had been locked out of the room in only a towel and had spent the entire hour we were gone trying to find a way back in. Oops.

So I'm back in Santa Ana, safe and sound, and here are the pictures I promised. Enjoy.

Costa Rica Pictures, Part Deux

Es la verdad.
-Juan

Hey again, everybody.

So Monteverde is amazing. I've taken more pictures here than anywhere else in the country I've been combined. I'll be posting those here once I return to Santa Ana, so don't you worry none.

The trip up here yesterday was forever long, roughly five hours from San José. We were riding with a tour group of senior citizens who were from (I think) Scandanavia. One of the guys asked me if I was Swiss while he was sitting down, and when I said no, he just said, "Oh, you look Swiss. My mistake." I guess that's a compliment, I don't know.

When we got to town, we got some food and headed out to the lodge we're staying in. I just have to say that I owe a big fat "Thank You" to the folk's at Frommer's, because the travel book I bought before leaving the States has come in immensely handy here especially. Because of them, I was alerted to the fact that there are dormitories right at the foot of the biological reserve that were super cheap for students. $38 per night gets us three meals a day and free admittance to the reserve (normally $12). So needless to say, we're doing quite well for ourselves. Hooray for us.

After getting accustomed to our lodgings for the evening, we decided to take advantage of our proximity to the reserve (as well as the uncharacteristically cloudless night, complete with a nearly full moon) and take a slightly prohibited night walk through the jungle. Quite possibly one of the coolest experiences of my life. We didn't see any animals, but it was just really cool to hear the sounds and feel the air. It's really humid, but it's so cool that you really don't even notice it. I had to wear my sweater for the first time since coming to Costa Rica; crazy.

This morning, after waking up early thanks to the family of howler monkeys living outside of our window (seriously), we had some breakfast and headed into the reserve to see what we had been missing the night before. I really wanted to spring for a guide to come with us, but it was pretty pricey (about $25 per person in the group... a little too steep for four college students just trying to see some plants and animals).

Slightly-relevant side note: there are some strange little raccoon-type creatures that come near the lodge every morning and harrass the incoming tourists. I saw one of these things try to snatch a photographer's bag out of a chair, but it failed miserably due to the fact that it tried to pull the bag out from the back of the chair, and so the bag was to big to fit through the space between the seat and the back. The chair came a-tumblin' down on top of the thing and nearly scared the daylights out of it. Hilarity ensued.

Back to the story: so it turns out that we probably should have sprung for the guide. The park had some of the most beautiful stuff I've ever seen in person, but I had no idea what I was looking at most of the day. Also, we failed to see any birds or mammals outside of the long-nosed raccoons outside of the lodge and the monkeys near our window. Not to say it hasn't been a great time, but it definitely would have been nice to see a quetzal or an ocelot or something. Another time, perhaps.

We walked in the forest for close to five hours, then we headed back to the lodge to do some R&R before leaving for what is called around here a "Canopy Tour." Canopy Tours involve strapping on a harness, climbing some trees, and then spending three hours or so riding ziplines through the forest. In other words, quite possibly the sweetest thing ever. I've got some photos for you that I'll post on Monday or Tuesday. Very sweet.

Not much more to say for now, I'm afraid. Have a great night, everybody.

"No... no, I can't afford that. No. No. No. NO TENGO DINERO, ALREADY!"
-Juan

Today is my 22nd birthday. I would say that in Spanish, but I am using my laptop and therefore am without a tilde on my keyboard. I don't want to look like I'm not spelling things properly, because that would negate my presence here in Costa Rica. Plus it would just be silliness.

As has been my birthday tradition for the past few years (since pledging K-Psi, I believe), I dressed a little nicer than I normally would this morning. I can't say why for sure, really. I suppose the attention-starved individual within me just hopes somebody will take the bait and say, "Why are you dressed so nice today?" and I will be able to say, "Oh, I do this every year on my birthday." Then I have found a way to let them know it's my birthday without having to pimp it around. Kind of a manipulative way of getting a smile and a "happy birthday," but I have found that it works very well.

I've gotten a good amount of birthday wishes from the staff at Conversa, as well as from several of my friends and classmates. Altogether, as good as a birthday in a foreign country can be expected to be.

Today has made me slightly introspective and nostalgic, as birthdays have a habit of doing to people, and so here are some of the more exciting things I've done since I turned 21, in chronological order:

I have finished training a pledge class for Kappa Kappa Psi.
I have watched the Baylor Lady Bears take the NCAA championship.
I watched my buddy Tom get married, and got to sing at the dinner to boot.
I spent a summer working as a professional hot dog vendor.
I have driven to Omaha to watch Baylor in the College World Series of Baseball.
I took my car past 100,000 miles.
I finally got my hands on the guitar of my dreams. Hooray.
I joined a group of people known as the Party Posse. Hooray again.
I got to play the Waco Hippodrome with the Brian David Band. I mean, it was only one song, but we still brought the house down.
I have spent a semester in a handbell choir.
I have gone to the Hear of Texas fair and realized that I am grossly underweight to be living in Texas.
I have conquered mono, but not before it conquered me for awhile.
I unsuccessfully pledged a fraternity because the registrar's office misled me and made me sad.
I have hosted a party that did, in fact, get shut down by the police, and in the process earned a hilarious story about the fence on my back porch.
I have finally left the North American continent, back when I went to London over New Year's.
I have been to the center of the lower 48 United States (Lebanon, Kansas).
I have also been to see the world's largest ball of twine.
I have had several conversations completely in Spanish. They were mostly one-sided, but I have understood a whole lot more than I ever could have before.
I have rappelled down a waterfall.
I have been to a rainforest.
I have partied in the same pool as Canadians, Israelites, Costa Ricans, and a Dutch person, all in a hotel situated right next to the Caribbean Sea.

I suppose it only gets better from here, eh?

Anyway, I'm not sure how the rest of my day is going to go. I've got to study for the test tomorrow, so that will be next, and after that I suppose I'll go sit in the lobby of El Coco (the bar I'm living in) and see if anybody I know walks in to have a birthday-type dinner with me.

Thanks for all of the birthday wishes, everybody. I have quite honestly lost track of how many people have texted, AIMed, emailed, facebooked or blog-commented to wish me a good day. It's nice to have friends, I tell you that. You guys are the best.

There probably won't be any new entries for a few days, because tomorrow we're leaving direct from school to head to Monteverde; and I'm not sure about the availability of internet in the cloud forest, but I'd bet good money that there's not much. As I said yesterday, I will be getting pictures, so there should be a nice update on Monday or Tuesday.

Listening to - Never Do Anything by the Barenaked Ladies

"No hablo espanol, dammit!"
-Juan

I had a conversation with my host mom today, and I never had to say,¨"¿Que?"

By no means does this mean I can speak Spanish, but I can understand a HUGE amount more than I did when I came here. Especially when I've got a pretty good idea what someone is about to ask me anyway. Heh.

This weekend we're headed to Monteverde Cloud Forest. Trust me, I'll be getting a whole lot of pictures there. Cloud forests are rare. Only about three or four of them in the world, I'm told.

For more info on cloud forests, check out these places:

Cloud Forest Alive
National Geographic Aritlce on Cloud Forests

Also, check out this article about the Resplendent Quetzal. It is the bird to see down here, apparently, and is really quite interesting to read about.

The Resplendent Quetzal

If this doesn't satisfy, you may google it.

"¿Que huelo?"
-Juan

Quick entry today, I'm using up somebody else's bandwidth and there are people waiting. Also, I am being watched.

Internet cafes are all down today, I think partially because of the serious internet clog due to the very close election results here in Costa Rica. I'm not sure what the connection there is, but that's what they're telling me.

The beach was fun, but I got no pictures. Sorry. Maybe stories another time, I dunno. There will be more beaches, though, so there will be pictures. Rastas are everywhere in Cahuita.

Pete ate a cheese empanada at the bus station in San Jose, and subsequently got food poisoning. Moral of the story: don't eat in San Jose. Don't eat anything at all, no matter how convincing the grifter selling the food might be.

"You can't point your finger with your hand full of sheet, mon!" - Rasta Man from Cahuita
-Juan

Not much to say today, everybody, sorry.

Tomorrow, we start our first weekend at the beach. Highly exciting. All of the bars and clubs are closing down this weekend, because the elections are taking place on Sunday and they don't want people voting drunk. That's funny. So we won't have much to do, but I'll bet we can find a way to have fun on a beach. You know, like taking naps and such.

I'll get pictures.

"Explique en ingles."
-Juan

Indirect objects today. The geek within is enjoying this far more than I should admit.

It rained today while Bryan and I were walking down the mountain, and of all days for me to be wearing only an undershirt it had to be today. I felt very self-conscious and was worried that the Ticas might see my nipples, so I tightened my backpack so that the straps covered them. Call me a pansy if you must, but the people here are weird sometimes, and they'll make fun of gringos for just about any reason; for instance, I made fun of a gringo the other day just because he couldn't speak Spanish. I mean, it was Bryan, but still, I'm not even a Tico and I make fun of the gringos. So you can understand my apprehension.

By the way, the term for a male nipple in Spanish is "tetilla." Note that it is feminine. However, on a female breast, it is called a "pezon" and is in fact masculine. This language weirds me out.

No me gusta cuando usted puede ve mi tetillas.
-Juan

I fixed the link to the photos, but if you don't want to scroll down, here it is again:

Costa Rica Photos

New teacher again today. A guy named Chico. He's cool. We covered direct objects today, and it made a whole lot of things I've heard in the past few weeks make so much more sense. In Spanish, you see, the DO comes before the verb, whereas in English it comes after. For example:

"I did it."

In Spanish, would be this:

"Yo lo hice." (I it did)

This will take some getting used to, because there's no logical way to wrap it up in good English grammar like there are most other things. But that's okay, because I have a jungle outside.

This has been "Brief and incomprehensible Spanish with Juan." Thank you for reading, please come again.

Adios.
-Juan

Note: This is a continued entry from earlier today. If you missed the earlier entry, and you're into reading the things I write, you might enjoy hearing what I had to say about mine and Bryan's trip from Santa Ana to Fortuna.

--

So moving on, Bryan and I woke up early the next morning and went on a tour with some guys from a company known as "Pure Trek Canyoning." The main drive of what these guys do involves hiking through the jungle, and from time to time rappelling down a waterfall or two. Or four. Bryan and I, being the skilled rappelling experts that we are, took on this challenge with gusto. They came to our hotel at around 7:30 to pick us up, and half an hour later we were hiking into a canyon and could hear the sounds of the approaching waterfall. After a brief safety speech from the guides, we (and the 15 or so others with us) began to descend the first of four waterfalls.

Umm... so I'm typing this, and I'm realizing there's not much more to say about what we did in the canyon. I mean, it was the time of my life and I'll never forget it, but it's just not story material. We rappelled down the falls, we hiked out of the canyon, we had lunch with the guides, and that's about it. I loved it. Honestly, one of the best days of my life.

After returning to our hotel, Bryan and I had scarcely put on dry clothes before it started to rain. Really really hard. And in a town like Fortuna, which is designed mostly for tourists, our options were to either go and try to see the volcano through a bunch of mist, clouds, and fog, go waste our money on souvenirs, or sit in the hotel and watch second-rate movies on HBO with the volume muted and try to figure out what they were about by reading the Spanish subtitles. Without question or hesitation, we chose the latter. And that was how we spent the rest of the day.

We made plans to go and see the volcano today, but it was foggy again, and so there was no chance we'd see anything resembling lava or even a crater. Bad luck with timing, but we'd been told to expect it. So we got on the bus to come home at around 12:45, and the fun started all over again. About five hours of travel-time, total, involving one kind of scary moment where a lady without an ounce of sense in her head LEANED AGAINST THE BUS DOORS with HER BABY IN HER ARMS, thus causing the door of the moving bus to fly open and nearly toppling her and her kid onto the road. Luckily somebody grabbed her in time, but seriously, who does that? Loca.

And now for some rather exciting news, I found out that one of the internet cafes here in Santa Ana will copy files from my camera's memory card onto a CD for me for a mere dollar. I jumped on this opportunity, and finally have some photographic evidence for all of you to enjoy from my trip.

Costa Rica Photos

I will be adding more to this page every week or two, and I'll say something about it on my blog when I do so that you don't have to constantly check on it.

By the way, I've received lots of comments, emails, and other types of messages about all the entries I've been writing since I've gotten here, and I really liked getting them. Thanks for taking an interest in Bryan and me, everybody. We're glad you like us.

And now, yet another time, I have to go karaoke with my local parents before I go to bed. Life is hard sometimes.

Viva la Conversa
-Juan

Hey there, everybody.

This weekend, Bryan and I went to the town of Fortuna, the nearest city to Arenal Volcano. But do you see what I did there? I wrapped up our travel into one convenient little sentence, completely removing any reference to the adventure that was getting to the city. I shall now relive that adventure for you. The following is based on a true story; only the events have been changed in order to make it far more exciting.

Our options for getting to Fortuna were many. We could take a plane for $75, we could rent a car for about $125, we could take a charter bus for about $25, or we could continue being the cheap tightwads that this country has made us into. Meaning, we could take the public bus for a mere $3. Obviously we chose the latter. It would add about an hour and a half onto our already considerable travel time, making the trip take around five hours, but we would save $22 as well as get to have a cultural experience. And boy, did we experience the culture.

The trip started normally enough. We boarded a bus in Santa Ana at around 3:00 to take us into San Jose, normally about a ten minute drive by car. With all of the bus stops, it took us closer to twenty. We were expecting this, so it was okay. However, once we got into San Jose and got off at the proper stop, we realized we had no idea where the bus station we needed was. If you've never been to Costa Rica, then you've never really gotten to experience the thrill of trying to find an address in a city where streets have no names and buildings have no numbers. Addresses here are directions in relation to landmarks. For example, my house in Santa Ana would be "200 meters past the catholic church, turn left, go 50 meters, stop at the pile of chicken cages and look up. I am in the bar on your left." The bus station we were looking for was "700 meters north of Coca Cola [Market], across the street from the old church." It took us awhile to find it. Once we did, we had to fight through some very elementary Spanish skills in order to find out which bus we were supposed to board. After boarding, we had to sort out the fare with a bus driver who spoke no English, and as far as I could tell he also spoke very little Spanish. It took us awhile to figure it out, needless to say.

But then, at around 4:45, we were on our way. Little did we know that two and a half hours later we would have to make a stop in Ciudad Quesada and change buses. I don't honestly remember how we figured out which bus to board in those twenty minutes at the bus station, but we did it just in time, because shortly after getting on the bus we pulled out of the station. Although we needn't have worried about hurrying, because we were riding the public bus. Before leaving the station's parking lot, we had stopped to pick up four different groups of people who had been ten minutes late to catch the bus. In order to make all of the necessary stops on our way out of Ciudad Quesada (also known as San Carlos, by the by, and the names are used interchangeably without explanation to confused gringos), we had to drop off all of the nighttime commuters, teenage partiers, and just plain ol' vagrants. It took us about an hour to leave San Carlos.

About forty minutes outside of San Carlos, we made a stop, and it looked like everybody was getting off of the bus. It was obvious we weren't in Fortuna, or any city for that matter, because everything around us was completely dark. I turned to Bryan in order to let him know that I was confused and frightened. Luckily, somebody nearby who spoke English heard my pathetic whimpers and filled us in on what was happening.

"There's a bridge the bus can't cross. You have to get out and walk."

He was serious. And he was right. So Bryan and I got off the bus and started walking. It was dark by then, about 8:15 at night, so we couldn't see more than a few feet in front of us, and most of that was by the light of the bus behind us. All we could hear was the rushing of water beneath the bridge we were crossing, which seemed to get more rickety with each progressive step. I was being a pansy about it, yeah, but it was an unsettling thing, I tell you. Anyway, we got across safe and sound, boarded the bus waiting for us on the other side, and rode the remaining hour and a half to Fortuna. We checked into our hotel, had dinner, and went to bed, secure in the knowledge that our long day of travel was over.

--

Okay, I need to go for now, our bus is about to leave for San Jose. I'll finish telling about the weekend either later today or tomorrow, once I get back to Santa Ana. But don't get too excited about it, the trip here really was the most exciting part of the story.

Hasta luego.
-Juan Iglesias

It's a good day.

So today, I left school a little bit early. I know, I know, I shouldn't be missing class, but trust me when I say it was the right decision to make in this particular instance. The last session of our day is a 1 1/2 hour review of the things we've covered in the two previous two hour sessions, and my options were to either go to this review, or experience what I experienced instead.

I went rappeling today.

180 feet.

Down a waterfall.

Apparently, one of the river guides for the people who went rafting on Saturday is also a fairly well-connected fellow who does things ranging from kayaking in canyons to horseback riding through the mountains to such things as we did today. So Minnesota John got this guy's number, gave him a call a couple of days ago, and next thing I know I'm commiting to spending the afternoon trusting my life to people I've never met. It's an exhiliarating feeling, to say the least.

I haven't rappelled in close to three years, so I had lost my old confidence in the equipment; in other words, I was a little nervous. The guy came to pick us up here in Santa Ana, drove us to a place about a half hour away, and it was a short hike to the top of the waterfall. Looking down from the top, I realized it was almost three times higher than anything I had ever descended before. This thing was massive; but it was incredible. The beauty was really something that has to be seen to be believed, but it was really out of this world. The three of us who were to be going down the falls were mesmerized while the guys set up the ropes.

Once I was strapped in, I was getting re-acquainted with what I was supposed to be doing; I got back the cockiness I was used to from when Nate and I used to do this every weekend down in Red Rock. But the waterfall was really something to behold. I got soaking wet on the way down, and I was loving every single minute of it. At one point, the guide we were with had tied off our "eight ring" so that we couldn't descend any further, and we got to jump straight into the waterfall. So much fun. I don't know that I'll ever get to experience anything like it ever again, but I'm glad I got to do it today.

Moving on...

Like I said yesterday, about half of our really good friends from Conversa are leaving in the next couple of days. Deb from Michigan treated us to dinner and drinks at a restaurant that's about halfway up the hill, and it's pretty safe to say that a good time was had by all. We bid fond farewells to Deb from Michigan and Bob from Kentucky, who will both be missed a great deal in the coming weeks, and just had a great time talking about all the fun we've had and laughing about stories from our respective pasts. Like Bob said, I don't think I've ever met such a diverse age group of people with whom I've been able to mingle so well.

So here I am, closing out my day at the internet cafe, writing my blog entry while my laptop downloads the latest episode of Lost. I suppose once that's all done, I'll take myself home, watch the episode, and fall off into an all-too-brief sleep before I get to hike up the mountain and see my friends again.

It's a good day, indeed.
-Juan

So now that the Samford kids are gone (and we do miss them dearly, they were fun), there are only nine of us left at Conversa this week. Two college students (Bryan and myself), three vacationers (a nursery manager from Minnesota named John, another John from Idaho, and Bob from Kentucky), one retiree (Deb from Michigan), and three twenty-something-year-old people who have moved down here on a semi-permanent basis and are looking to improve their Spanish before getting apartments and jobs in Costa Rica (Katie from South Carolina, Tricia from Chicago, and Greg from Minnesota). With such small numbers, it's easy for us all to get together and hang out after classes every day. We've made it a habit to go to one bar or another and have a couple of beers at the end of each school day, and it's turned into a nice little routine for us.

Tomorrow, sadly, this must come to an end.

After this week, only four of us will remain, and Thursday is actually Deb's last night in town. So we're all going to stop at a restaurant that's about 1/3 of the way up the mountain after school and have a few drinks and reminisce on the two weeks we've known each other and all that jazz. It's weird how much I've laughed and had fun with these people after only knowing them for such a short time. I guess it's the kind of personality that's drawn to do something like Conversa; it's generally congenial people who are fun to be around.

Anyway, enough with the sappiness.

Bryan and I have nearly completed our first semester of Spanish. He's feeling a bit of trepidation, but I'm downright excited. Things are clicking, connections are being made... I'm still super-slow at speaking it but I'm picking up on things I never would have thought possible. Now when my madre (Costa Rican "mom") asks me if I'm going to "cenar" (to have supper) in the restaurant or elsewhere with my friends, I don't have to spend five minutes thinking about what she said. Instead, I can spend that five minutes formulating my response. I now only feel half-retarted, and I feel proud of my wee little accomplishment, even if it has taken about 44 hours of class (so far) to get me there. That's 5 1/2 hours a day spread out over eight weekdays, for anybody who's curious.

I'm working on a way to get my pictures up here. It won't happen anytime soon because I left the cable connecting my camera to my computer on my desk in Waco, but if I can find a card reader down here somewhere then I'll have them up for you to see as soon as possible.

This weekend Bryan and I are going to see a volcano. Arénal is the most active volcano in the country at the moment, and is in fact the world's third largest active volcano. Odds are very good that all we'll see are a bunch of clouds, but we could get lucky and see an eruption. Of course, if not, then we'll just have to drown our sorrows in the warm natural hot springs surrounding the area. Poor us. We are such mistreated creatures.

The coca-cola here tastes so much sweeter than it does in America. It's bottled domestically, so I suspect that they use the pure cane sugar rather than the "high fructose corn syrup" they use in America. Plus it all comes out of glass bottles, and everybody knows that they are far superior to plastic bottles when it comes to taste. I think I may be able to make it without Dr. Pepper as long as I never run out of bottles of coke.

Buenos noches, chicos y chicas. Hasta mas tarde.
-Juansito, Un Oso de Baylor

So yesterday (Sunday), Bryan and I went and played some softball. Bryan's Costa Rican brother-in-law is from Venezuela, and in Venezuela baseball is the sport to play; therefore, there are many people who play softball as well. In Costa Rica, it's all pretty much soccer.

So we went to this park in San José with Guillermo, and lo and behold, there were a bunch of Venezuelans and a bunch of Nicaraguans. These two countries, it would seem, are rivals. So it quickly turned into a pickup game of Venezuelans vs. the "nicas." No joke, they call them nicas. And they were a cocky bunch of punks. Especially one guy that Bryan and I (or maybe it was just me) had dubbed "Purpleshirt Punkass." Purpleshirt was that guy on the team that everybody knows, that nobody can stand to be around, but nobody wants to tell them to go away because they won't do it anyway. I was playing catcher, and of the four time this guy went up to bat, he got out three times. He was lucky enough to score once, and I have no excuse for that. It made me sad. But that's okay, because the other three times he got out made me happy. This is why I am a bad person.

Anyway, the Venezuelans (and two Gringos, aka "us") ended up losing to the Nicas. But it was a fun time and I have little more to say about it.

Today was the first day with our new teacher. She speaks much better English than the last one did, but that's no help to us because she refuses to do it in the classroom. She's very ready with the praise, though, and that's nice.

Okay, I need to go. Adios.
-Juansito

Veintiun de enero del dosmil seis

It's been a good couple of days.

First off, for anybody wondering how that test I was talking about went, I can say with great ego that I did much better than I had thought I would. I got a 94 on my first ever Spanish test, and next week I will be placed accordingly. This just gives me the warm fuzzies all over.

For some general Conversa/Costa Rica news, regarding myself and Bryan, we have taken it upon ourselves to ease the load on the school buses that take the students from Santa Ana (the town we live in) to Conversa (the school we go to). In other words, we are walking to school every day. This may sound like no big deal to you, but you have to believe me when I say that it's a bit of an undertaking. You never really appreciate the difficuly of walking uphill until you have to do it. The walk from my house behind the Coco to the trail itself is proably a little more than half a mile, and the trail is an uphill hike of about 3 miles to Conversa. It takes about forty-five minutes to walk to school, at which point we take some very cold showers at school. Why a cold shower? Because hot water heaters, it turns out, are a relatively newfangled thing and have not yet made their way to the mass populace of Costa Rica. Thus, the school has no hot water available. We are getting freezing cold water from deep within the mountain in which to shower. It is both a reminder that I am alive as well as a reminder that I don't like to be cold. But anyway, it's getting me in pretty good shape (I'm seeing my ribs for the first time since high school), so I'll keep doing it until I go home. In fact, Bryan has made it his goal never to take the bus to school, so I suppose we'll be walking to school for weeks to come. It's a good time, lemme tell ya.

And now for storytime.

All week long, one of the older students here (also named John) has been planning to have his 54th birthday party in the bar I'm living in. We've been talking it up amongst the other students, including the 25 or so college-aged kids from Samford who have been here for the past three weeks. We were all pretty excited about it because it would be an opportunity for us all to hang out a bit outside of school before all the Samford kids leave on Monday, and to get a pleasant buzz going on while we were at it. John (or, as we have come to call him, Don Juan) paid for everything, including drinks, food, bocas (appetizers), and karaoke. It was a qualified bash. I even did a little karaoke duet with one of the Samford girls ("Fly Me to the Moon" if you're curious); it was good times all around.

But the most remarkable part of this story would have to be the dancing. I don't remember who it was that dragged me onto the dance floor after the karaoke, but I remember wanting to fight it the whole way but also being a little too buzzed to properly recall how to do so. I started dancing to some of the salsa music, and was having a great time, and as my buzz wore off I realized that I was still having a great time even without the aid of alcohol. Turns out dancing is fun. Who knew? Before last night, I hadn't made a serious attempt at dancing since Sarah's prom my senior year of high school. But last night was an adventure. I did a little bit of swing, a little bit of salsa, and I think there may have been some disco involved, but the lines are kind of blurry in regards to musical styles down here and so it was hard to tell. The weirdest thing about it was that all the teachers, who had come to party with us, kept sliding up next to me and doing some moves that will make me feel very awkward looking them in the eye on Monday. They seemed to be enjoying themselves, but there were a couple of moments where I just kind of slid away and hoped they wouldn't notice until I was across the floor. In retrospect, it's pretty funny, I suppose, so we'll just let it be funny and leave it at that.

In unrelated news, I have started introducing myself as Juan without even thinking about it. The people down here just can't wrap their tongues around "John," so rather than fight through it I have simply become "Juan." It's kind of nice, really, because it makes me feel like a real live Tico (local). It's fun.

And on a kind of frustrating note, you might notice that I am writing this entry on a Saturday morning. "Why," you may be asking yourself, "would a person in Costa Rica who has the day off spend his Saturday morning in an internet cafe writing journal entries?" The answer, of course, is the snooze button. I was supposed to go rafting with a few of the older students and Bryan today, but I set my alarm clock too early. Trust me, that sentence does make sense. We were supposed to meet at the bus stop at 5:50 to head to wherever it is we were supposed to go, but since I was up late last night I left myself vulnerable to "subconcious alarm clock manipulation syndrome," a condition with which I have been struggling since early in my high school days. I only needed to set the alarm seven minutes before 5:50 in order to be there in time. My clothes were laid out, I hadn't planned to shower, and the bus stop is a block from the Coco. For some reason, I set my alarm clock forty minutes before 5:50. Thus, when it went off, my subconcious mind said "I have much more time to sleep. We will snooze." And so I snoozed. Then, it went off again, and my mind says, "That is annoying. Snooze." So I snoozed. Once more it went off, and my mind said, "Damn you, clock, and all that you stand for," and simply turned the clock completely off. This was what got me into trouble. My concious mind awoke at 6:00, aware of what the subconcious mind had done, and in a panic. I threw on my clothes and was out the door by 6:01, but it was too late. I missed the bus, and I didn't know where we were going rafting, so I couldn't simply get a cab to take me there. So here I sit, in the internet cafe typing journal entries. It's a little frustrating, but I've got several weekends left and I will make it onto the river before I go.

So now I will probably go buy some book in Spanish and attempt to build my grammar and vocabulary by reading it. I'm thinking I'll hike up to the school and read in the hammocks, because it's much more quiet and peaceful there than in town. Either way, I reckon I'll end up having a nice, relaxing weekend, and I've never been one to complain about relaxation of any kind.

And now I go to the bookstore. I'll see you guys later.
-Juan del Coco